Poetry in Motion
by Ksiezniczka
Summary: G1 Perceptor/Ani BlackArachnia. Exiled from the Decepticons and tossed into the unstable, untested Space Bridge, she finds someone who is both smart enough to restore her original form and kind enough to actually do it without stabbing her in the back.
1. It Takes A Lot to Survive

**Aside from "Twenty", which has 7 chapters to go (Which I really need to get around to doing), and "LWIDTMI", which is an ongoing series for who knows how long (I need to update this one too...), all my main TF stories are dying down. "Queen of Junk", "Through Glass", and "YMBR" all have ether 1 or 2 chapters left. So while I have 2 AUs outlined, I discovered this bunny over at the farm on LJ and it just wouldn't leave me alone. Somehow it's evolved into this, which I don't even have a full outline for yet. Sigh. Well, I hope you all enjoy this anyway.**

**Oh, and because BlackArachnia is techno-organic, I will be using terms such as "breathe" and "bleed" in association with her. And I apologise for any screw-ups on Perceptor's dialogue. I love his big word usage, but English isn't my first language, so forgive me if his speech doesn't sound right. Then again, I have a good enough vocabulary that it'll probably turn out decently.**

**Furthermore, all chapters will be named for and include at the beginning an excerpt from a song which describes one of the character's (Either BlackArachnia or Perceptor) feelings. Just so you all know.**

**Technically, since this is posted on a fanfiction site, I don't legally have to put a disclaimer, but I like to give credit where credit is due, cos I'm nice like that. "Transformers" (c) Hasbro. Lyrics (c) Hasbro too, for this one. (Misfits! Whoo!)**

oOo

_Life can be so hard_

_Girl, you better be on your guard_

oOo

"Megatron does not take kindly to treachery," the voice was disturbingly calm, coming from one who was holding a delicate femme up by her throat - she couldn't breathe, not when the cold, metallic hands were closing around her windpipe. She couldn't protest her innocence - not that it would have mattered, as he wouldn't have believed her, and she wasn't exactly innocent. Still, he was overreacting just a bit - she'd have thought exile from the Decepticons would be punishment enough. But that had only been the beginning of her punishment.

"G-get off of me!" She struggled to say four short words, struggled to move the slender attachments on her back in order to poison him and free herself, but to no avail. Her torturer had been sure to freeze them solid before slashing at the faction symbol emblazoned on her chest until it was hardly recognisable.

"You should be thankful," he spoke, again in an extremely calm tone of voice that drastically contradicted his actions in a way that was terrifyingly chilling. "Had Megatron let Lugnut punish you, you vould certainly be dead by now."

Unable to choke out another reply, she glared out from her four fiery red optics.

"Yes," he continued, probably deriving a sick enjoyment from her struggling, "you should feel honoured, BlackArachnia, zat Megatron has chosen you to test our new Space Bridge."

She felt her eyes widen involuntarily at this - the Space Bridge hadn't been tested, and it certainly had no set coordinates yet. She didn't know much about Space Bridge technology, but she could guess being killed by Lugnut would have been preferable to this.

BlackArachnia _hated _Blitzwing. She always had. Three very different personalities meant three times the work to try and control, and normally, she'd have welcomed the challenge - but she'd quickly realised not one of the three personalities wanted to see her unless she was being squished under someone's heel.

She hated Hothead because he was needlessly violent and gave her a headache, though he was also the dumbest of the three, and easily predictable. She hated Random for the same reason everybody did - he was fragging insane, and just a little scary with all his comments on cannibalism. But her least favourite Blitzwing was Icy Blitzwing. He never appeared to have any emotions, even when he was mercilessly torturing Autobot captives. Or Decepticon traitors, like herself. He had probably been a serial killer or something like that before joining the Decepticons - the thought was so concievable, it scared her.

She felt herself - still held up by the throat - being carried across the room to the gleaming Space Bridge, and tried not to look afraid, even though she was secretly terrified. She would never give Blitzwing the sick pleasure of knowing the effect he had over her. Instead, she shot him one final, murderous glare before feeling herself being roughly thrown into the Space Bridge as Random Blitzwing's laughter filled the air.

All of a sudden, it seemed to BlackArachnia that the mouth of the Space Bridge, unbelievably incandescent, rose up to meet her and swallow her.

She felt nothing.

And then she felt everything. She was, for a time, in complete blackness which felt as if it were tearing her apart from the inside out. Then came a speck of bright light, a pinpoint of brilliance, to seize on the dazed ex-Decepticon. It grew nearer to her, or maybe her to it, she had no way of telling which way was up or down. Closer and closer; somewhere in the parts of her that weren't paralysed, questions formed, but she had no way of asking them, even to herself.

Around her, she seemed to feel a tunnel made of the increments of her journey, as if she were flying or falling through an infinite series of loops of energy. She fell and fell, feeling completely disoriented and amazed nearly to the point of thoughtlessness.

And finally the tunnel ended. She shot from its mouth and the ground flew up at her.

As the dizziness cleared, BlackArachnia wondered where the frell she was, before she was overwhelmed by a strong urge to either vomit or faint. She ended up doing both, right there on the strange ground she'd fallen to.

oOo

She woke up in a bright room - a little too bright, actually, as her vision was taking much longer to adjust than it should have. She still felt ill, but was doing a much better job of suppressing it. She remembered Blitzwing throwing her out of the Decepticons on Megatron's request, but not much else, especially not where she was.

"Oh," a strange voice caused her to jump, "you're awake. Guess I'd better go get-"

Before the mech - BlackArachnia could at least figure that out from the quality of the voice - could say who he'd better get, she backed up defensively, falling ungracefully a few feet onto a cold, hard floor. Her vision cleared up a little more, and she could see two strange mechs looking down at her with even stranger expressions. They were both blindingly white, and she hissed, catlike, squinting. They were Autobots, which could only mean she was a prisoner.

"I don't know who you are," she growled, "but if you think you're going to get any information out of me, you can forget it." She almost continued, to explain she'd been exiled, but quickly clamped her mouth shut. These Autobots didn't need to know the Decepticons wouldn't be coming for her. Maybe they hadn't seen her slashed insignia yet, after all. BlackArachnia could always hope, regardless of how little good hope usually did.

One of the strangers turned and muttered something to the other, who was a little shorter. The shorter nodded curtly and exited the room.

"You aren't a prisoner, you know," the remaining mech seemed bemused. "We don't have much use for an ex-'con." Her optics widened, then went back to a defensive glare. Damn! Now what could she use to threaten them, especially since she still couldn't feel a majority of her body?

"Then what do you want with me?" she forced herself not to sound afraid, though she was, of what they might do to someone like her. BlackArachnia had no intention of becoming someone's experiment with organic life.

"Nothing yet," the strange-looking Autobot shrugged, and she noticed odd, red X shapes on his broad shoulders. Now that she could see a bit better, she could see how weird this Autobot really looked - he was unusually boxy, with a prominent olfactory sensor that he didn't even bother to cover up like most of the Autobots she'd met. "Optimus probably'll have questions for you once Prowl gets him down here, though."

Oh, this was just great. Optimus and Prowl were here? She looked around desperately for escape, but the only door in the room was currently opening to let more strange-looking Autobots in. Cursing her luck and fearing the worst, she scuttled backwards and upwards, nestling herself where the wall met the ceiling so she could look down on these enemies - and possibly muster the energy to jump over them, if needed.

"Don't come near me!" she warned the three that stepped in, defensively, not even bothering with the seductive behaviour she'd normally use on Autobots. She couldn't even think to do that; instead feeling panicky at what was to come. Two of the new Autobots looked up at her, each red with blue accents. The one with the darker blue was huge, and wore a pointed battle-mask. The third mech was the short white one from earlier, though now she could see black on him too. He looked emotionless, icy - she suppressed a shiver when she locked optics with him. His doorwings twitched, but other than that, he didn't move.

The red one with lighter blue on him was the only one with any sort of expression she could find solace in - not that that was saying much, not here. He carried a box of supplies, and he stared up at her with an awe that he didn't bother to conceal.

"She's awoken from stasis lock?" he cocked his head slightly, his voice lightly accented, with an odd airiness to the way he spoke. "Oh, good - I had wondered if we'd have to use something to online her. We have no way of predicting what could potentially harm such a specimen, after all - which reminds me, I have so many inquiries to-"

"Not now, Perceptor," the red-and-white one held up a hand that was surprisingly delicate, contrasting the boxiness of the rest of his body. BlackArachnia narrowed her eyes when she realised she was the "specimen." "Optimus first." At these words, she looked around wildly - Optimus? Here?

"Thank you, Ratchet," the large Autobot with the mask nodded politely. His voice was deep, thundering, yet also smooth. Like Megatron's. This didn't do anything to ease BlackArachnia's apprehension. "You should be thankful Perceptor saw you when he did. Your colouration blends so well with the Space Bridge, Jazz might have accidentally run you over."

This might have been meant as a joke, or it might not have been. Either way, she didn't find it amusing in the slightest - _Jazz _was here too? Which meant Sentinel must be here as well! She groaned audibly, causing the shorter red one - "Perceptor" he'd been called - to look worried, and the red-and-white to look amused as he held Perceptor back.

"Look," she decided to try to reason with this huge Autobot, whoever her was. "I'm not a Decepticon anymore, so there's nothing you could possibly want with me. So maybe you could just let me go-"

"Optimus," the black-and-white interrupted her. "We cannot take her suggestion. It could be a trick."

"I wasn't going to, Prowl, though I doubt Megatron would even think to do something like that."

BlackArachnia blinked once, feeling strangely disoriented. The black-and-white had called the larger one "Optimus" and been called "Prowl", yet they weren't Optimus or Prowl. Before her head could hurt, she snapped, "What the frag are you trying to pull?! Do you think I was created yesterday?"

The four beneath her looked up at her, not sure how to take the outburst.

"Explain," the huge one finally broke the silence.

"You aren't Optimus," she glared, "and he isn't Prowl. I'm not stupid, you know!"

"Ratchet," the one claiming to be Prowl turned to the red-and-white, who merely shook his head.

"And he isn't Ratchet! I don't know who you freaks are, but I know what Optimus Prime looks like!"

"Remarkable!" the one with the accent - _Perceptor_. She'd have to remember that. - "I'd thought there was something strange about any being that managed to be both technological and biological - but that the femme was found by the Space Bridge and knows another Prime; I hadn't thought it possible before, but there can only be one explanation for her confusion."

"And what's that?" the one with the doorwings who was definitely not Prowl asked impatiently.

"She must somehow have travelled from an alternate reality - the femme is literally from out of this world!"

BlackArachnia felt another wave of dizziness at the shocking statement which caused her to fall in an ungraceful heap in front of not-Optimus. _What_!?

-_TBC-_

**Sorry for the short intro, but I didn't want to delve too deeply. I want this to be a multi-chapter story after all. I hope you all enjoyed it!**


	2. Expectations

**Ugh, I'm not satisfied with this chapter at all. I really, really hate doing infodumps. I hope it doesn't suck too bad. Next one won't be as awful, I promise. (If I can even crank another one out by the end of the year...)**

**Happy Jewish New Year, everyone! Shalom!**

**Technically, since this is posted on a fanfiction site, I don't legally have to put a disclaimer, but I like to give credit where credit is due, cos I'm nice like that. "Transformers" (c) Hasbro. Lyrics (c) Belle and Sebastian.**

oOo

_Hey, you've been used_

_And you can't settle down_

_Write a song, I'll sing along_

_Soon you will know that you are sane_

_You're on top of the world again_

oOo

When he had found her, though her frame had been unusually compact and her armour strange, though her energy signatures had been strange (to say the least), at the time he'd thought nothing of it. Perceptor realised now he really should have, but put the realisation in the back of his mind - hindsight bias rarely did him any good, after all. And seeing four confused faces gaping at him - three belonging to his comrades and the fourth to the defensive femme lifting herself slowly from the ground - he cycled air through his vents and tried to think of an explanation, knowing full-well they all expected him to know everything about this odd situation.

But how could he know? How could he even think of a possible theory with all the questions burning in his CPU? How could he?

"Could you possibly tell us a little about your reality?" he asked timidly, wanting to know about the other Ratchet, Prowl, and Prime, and if he, too, had an equivalent.

The femme snarled up at him. "No. Tell me where the frell I am and maybe I'll consider paying back what I owe you for repairing me."

"_Now _she gets uppity..." Ratchet muttered, going ignored by most of the room.

"You don't owe us anything," Optimus tried, speaking in the kind tone of voice that calmed any Autobot in distress. "We're Autobots - we'd never leave another to die."

She snorted. "I seriously doubt that." Perceptor was left even more confused - never had he met anyone, Megatron aside, who doubted anything their great Prime said. What had her Prime done to her to make her so untrusting of their own? Continuing, almost as if answering his mental inquiry, she muttered - possibly to herself - "You think I wanted to end up looking like this?"

"What do you mean by that?" Perceptor asked softly, and she whipped her head up to glare at him, eyes still hazy from the cranial wounds they couldn't fix, for lack of information on how to remove her helmet.

"Not that it's any of _your _business," she spat venomously, "but back in my reality, it's his fault I'm..." her mouth started to form a word, possibly 'deformed', but she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"You weren't created as a biotechnological fusion?" he stepped closer, kneeling to be at eye-level with her.

"What do you think?" she backed away a few inches when he moved his arm toward her shoulder. Weakly, he brought it back down. "You still haven't given me any answers."

"You haven't exactly provided us with any information either," Prowl said bluntly. "Who are you, why were you exiled from the Decepticons, and how did you end up at the Space Bridge?"

"I don't have to tell you anything!"

"True," the police car nodded curtly, "but then you can't expect us to give you anything either."

The femme sulked for a few breems, optics still attempting to focus, as if weighing her options. Trust the Autobots or be left to survive in a reality where she knew nothing? And, as much as it hurt her to admit it, she wasn't dumb enough to try her luck at the second option.

"Fine. But not to you." Looking around the room, her gaze settled - as much as it could - on Perceptor. "You."

"Me?" He was surprised, and just a little flattered.

"You saved my life. I figure I owe you. Tell your friends," she spat the last word distastefully, "to leave."

"Now hold on just a breem!" Ratchet looked indignant. "No one kicks me out of my own med-bay!"

"Ratchet," Optimus silenced the ambulance. "Come along. Perceptor, I expect you'll report anything that we need to know."

"Of course," the microscope nodded, watching as the three left the room, then turning to assure the femme, "Don't worry; I won't reveal anything you wish to keep from them unless it puts the Autobots in direct danger."

"So indirect danger is alright then?" she muttered sarcastically, not intending for him to hear. Realising that, he chose not to reply. "My name's BlackArachnia."

"But how is your designation BlackArachnia if you weren't built into an arachnid-like ectomorph?"

"It's not the name I was brought online with."

"Oh... if you don't mind me asking, and I'm sure you're expecting me to inquire such a thing, what exactly _was _your original designation?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "You realise I'd probably kill you if you told anyone this, but... I used to be known as Elita-One."

Choosing not to let her know Ratchet had removed any weaponry he could find on her - which may or may not have been all of what she had, being so foreign to them - Perceptor took in air sharply in surprise. "Optimus Prime's bondmate."

BlackArachnia looked surprised. "So this reality's version of me chose him over Sentinel?"

"Sentinel Prime was deactivated vorns before Optimus was even created!" Perceptor was amazed. The mere concept that more than one Prime could coexist... "How did you know him?"

"Prime's a pretty high rank around here, isn't it?" she ignored the question.

"Of course. Is that not the case in the reality you occupied? If you don't mind-"

"My head hurts," she cut him off, clearly not wanting to remain on this subject.

"Well, yes," he stood up, realising he was still kneeling, and motioned for her to get on the table. "You suffered minor cranial damage when you exited the Space Bridge. If you'd like, I could take a look at it, but you'd need to assist me with the removal of your helmet-"

"No," she snapped. "A little concussion isn't going to kill me, right?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then don't even think about touching my helmet!" she hopped off the table and stood away from him in a defensive stance.

"BlackArachnia, it isn't my intention to hurt you in any way-"

"No, it never is with you Autobots, is it?"

He paused to reflect on what she was accusing him of, before shaking his head and pressing on, "You mentioned that you used to be known as Elita-One. Were you a Decepticon even then?"

She glared at him for a breem, then looked down, features softening, and - barely audible - answered, "No..."

Perceptor nodded to let her know he'd heard, though he'd suspected as much, especially with her severe distrusting behaviour towards the Autobots. "You don't need to elaborate if you don't want me to know about it, though I admit I am curious. I believe the next question Prowl wanted answered was why you were forcibly exiled from the Decepticons."

"It was a stupid mistake," she growled angrily. "I thought I could manipulate Starscream to give me enough Allspark energy to fix this stupid form and...!"

Seeing she was getting furious just thinking about it, Perceptor moved onto the next question, "And the Space Bridge...?"

She paused to take a few breaths to calm herself. "Blitzwing found out and tattled on me to Megatron, then threw me in our Space Bridge without setting the coordinates. Next thing I know, you're interrogating me like it's the Kaonian Inquisition."

"I apologise if we've offended you, but surely you understand the need to know such things, especially in the midst of war."

"There's a war going on?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Is there not in your reality?" Optimus would want to know this for sure.

"Of course there is!" her gaze darted back and forth nervously, and he was positive she was lying, but didn't press the matter. If there was a reason she didn't want him to know, then it wasn't his place to pry.

"One last question, and this is merely my own curiosity. If you really don't wish to answer, I won't force you to. However, I can't help but wonder what position you held in the Decepticons..."

BlackArachnia gave him to look, as if to say, _'Are you really asking that?' _Apparently deciding it was innocent enough to warrant an answer, she replied, "I was the head Decepticon Scientist." Hearing him gasp, she smirked, bemused. "What? You don't think my meek little femme CPU could possibly be the best of the Decepticons?"

"Oh, no I didn't mean that a- well, that is... that's basically my position here. Among the Autobots. I graduated the Science Academy at the top of my class."

"How about that?" she sounded bored; uninterested. "Would you believe it? The brightest student in the Autobot Academy and, I couldn't even keep myself from turning into this! Even with access to top Deceptcon technology, I can't fix this stupid form!"

Perceptor had a feeling she was griping more towards herself than to him, but he still couldn't keep from replying, "Perhaps you just didn't have the resources at your disposal?"

"What're you saying? You do or something?" She scoffed. A pause hung in the air as her optics widened, then narrowed again as she focused on his face, evil-looking smirk gracing her once twisted and angry features. She slowly moved closer, deliberately moving in a way that he couldn't tear his optics away. Perceptor felt his systems heating up with nervousness. "Perceptor, right?"

"Y-yes," he stuttered as she pressed her warm, curvaceous form against his. He tried very hard to not think about this.

"I think I've answered enough of your questions. Care to hear out one of mine?"

-_TBC-_

**I'm not sure if I'm moving this too slow or too fast. Ugh. Well, what did you all think of it? More BA next chapter!**


	3. Bitch

**I lost the outline for this, so it's in the process of a complete overhaul. So this chapter is the first step in the new direction. I hope you all like it.**

**Also I should point out that I have nothing against the Autobots, despite BlackArachnia's obvious prejudices. But. I do have some issues with the way they're run in Animated - with every episode, especially those concerning the Elite Guard, it becomes frighteningly easier and easier to draw parallels to outright Stalinism. More information on those views can be found on my livejournal.**

**Technically, since this is posted on a fanfiction site, I don't legally have to put a disclaimer, but I like to give credit where credit is due, cos I'm nice like that. "Transformers" (c) Hasbro. Lyrics (c) Meredith Brooks.**

oOo

_I hate the world today_

_You're so good to me, I know, but I can't change_

_Tried to tell you, but you looked at me like maybe I'm an angel underneath_

_Innocent and sweet_

oOo

The rest of the day passed relatively slowly; hours passing without the femme so much as looking at anyone, save for a few snarls and hisses at curious minibots on the way to the lab. Perceptor had agreed to try and fix her as long as she didn't attack anyone. However, he never said anything about being nice.

Hours turned to days, and she chose never to leave Perceptor's lab, choosing instead to manipulate various visitors (normally an engineer named Wheeljack) into getting fuel for the both of them.

Days turned to weeks, and she realised Perceptor really didn't take good care of himself, even with Wheeljack's interference. Not that she was worried, of course, but if he didn't stay properly energised, how could he help her? So she began to retrieve energon cubes on her own, though choosing to climb buglike along the ceilings rather than actually have to face these strange Autobots.

Weeks turned to months before she finally began walking in public, slowly learning who was who. She still had trouble even looking at those who she had known in her original universe, like Prowl or Jazz, but was fine glaring, or even swishing her hips, at mechs called things like Inferno or Smokescreen. She didn't even want to think about if this universe had a Starscream or, Primus forbid, a Blitzwing!

For three months, she lived like this, retrieving energon as Perceptor tried experiment after experiment on her. None ever worked. Not that he didn't try, often saying things such as:

"If you would allow me to detach your helmet so I could get a look at your unusual, erm, extremities, then I might be able to -"

"No!" She would always snap. "No, no, no a million times, no!"

He would always look away and sigh pathetically. Were she still an Autobot, she might almost feel bad.

oOo

It happened one day when she was casually walking down the hall towards the Rec Room, where the nearest energon dispensor was. She hated that room; there were always mechs in it, sometimes humans as well. But it was close and she was hungry. Later on, it would occur to her as odd that she never made it to the Rec Room. No, she was stopped in her tracks by that deep voice that made her shiver, coming behind a door which was only slightly ajar.

Transforming into spider-mode, she scuttled up to the ceiling, past a security camara, and peeked through the the tiny slit where the doors weren't quite completely closed.

Optimus Prime. It didn't matter the circumstances or universe; she didn't like or trust him one bit. She'd been in the Autobots; knew how corrupt they were. Preaching equality while at the same time exterminating those who didn't agree with their contradictory ideals - or worse. She repressed the urge to spit in disgust, keeping silent as she peered in at the Autobot leader.

She couldn't make out what he was saying, but that wasn't what interested her. What really intrigued the femme was what was on the Autobot's monitor: an unfamiliar face; one she didn't know. One that was distinctly feminine.

BlackArachnia squinted, trying to make the features of this strange face clearer from her strange vantage point. Though, like the others of this universe, the features were oddly proportioned, the femme on the screen was still so...

...so beautiful.

It was all she could do to keep from gasping. The femme looked mature, but gentle, rose-coloured helm sculpted into a crown-like shape, giving her the appearance of someone ethereal and important. Her smile was slight, but still so warm, and her optics, shining bright blue, were somehow piercing and comforting all at once. The spider's legs tensed up, immediately jealous of so much beauty in one femme.

But Primus must have wanted to laugh at her that day. As she listened closely, trying to make out what the femme was saying, she was finally able to hear Optimus reply to this mysterious Autobot. And while she only heard two words, they were more than enough:

"Elita One..."

It wouldn't have mattered if he had screamed what he said next, she wouldn't have been able to hear it, not with fluids pumping so hard in her head. It was her. That too-beautiful femme was _her. _Though without such a tragedy as the one she had experienced, that femme was this universe's version of her. And even had BlackArachnia not become deformed, she still wouldn't have matched up to this version of Elita One. In her shock, she lost her grip on the ceiling, sliding down the wall and quickly transforming and bolting back toward the lab, not daring to look behind to check if Optimus saw.

She paused outside the lab to regain her senses. From what she could tell, Wheeljack was at the door, probably talking about her. Once she was able to put up a convincing, uncaring facade, she sauntered in as if nothing were wrong. She didn't trust Wheeljack further than she could throw him, and she wasn't about to allow him to see how flustered she was over this.

However, Perceptor wasn't named for being perceptive without reason.

"BlackArachnia," he gasped quietly in that accented tone of his, "You weren't gone long - did something, perhaps, happen? What's wrong?"

She pursed her lip, all four optics glaring at the nearby engineer.

"I was jus' leavin'," Wheeljack muttered sheepishly, before doing just that. Her shoulders drooped significantly as soon as she was sure he was gone.

"Something happened," Perceptor finally said, not asking, but confirming his suspicions.

"Damn you and your observation skills."

"That isn't valid information. Please, tell me what's wrong."

_'Please, let me in,' _Optimus - her Optimus - whispered in her memory, but she shook it away. Perceptor and Optimus were nothing alike, could not be alike, or she'd go insane!

"You told me Elita-One is the bondmate of Optimus," she began softly, trailing off when it made her chest hurt. Why? Why was her chest hurting?

"Indeed; it is my understanding that they're very much in lov- oh, tell me you didn't meet her."

"Meet her? No way! But see her..."

"You were spying!" he gasped

"I wasn't hurting anybody!" she exclaimed defensively, pointing at the scratches across her insignia; scratches that still pained the brand scar even now, months after. "I didn't mean to..."

A long pause followed, and she felt stupid for letting that slip out. She sounded so weak! It was disgusting!

Surprise gracing his features, Perceptor quietly asked, "You found her features aesthetically pleasing?"

"Well, slag, she's everything I can't have! Don't you agree?"

"I've never met her, myself," the microscope confessed. "To be perfectly honest, before yourself, I'd never seen a femme in person. They're an incredible rarity, you know."

"Would you like to see one?" she found herself asking before she could stop herself, inwardly cursing herself - what the slag was she doing? Was this to get back at Optimus? What was going on?

"BlackArachnia, what are you-" Perceptor found his sentence cut off as the femme before him grabbed his hand, slowly bringing it up to the underside of the back of her helmet, where he could feel a switch in the one place he hadn't thought to look. "You..."

She didn't reply, afraid of what she might say for some strange, sad reason; instead guiding his nimble fingers over the switch, where to press down, how to remove the helmet...

When air caught in his vents at the strange, alien features beneath, she began to recoil, backing up and looking away, but he stopped her with one hand on the small of her back. She couldn't bring herself to speak or look into his optics, flinching when she felt a metallic hand gently tracing her cheek.

Finally, it became too much for her, and she pushed away, disgusted, quickly placing the helmet back on her head.

"BlackArachnia-"

"I don't want to talk about it," she snapped, turning away from him angrily.

"But-"

"Shut up!"

He nodded, leaving his train of thought unspoken. _'But you're beautiful...'_

_-TBC-_

**Oy, she comes off as a little schizophrenic here, no? I had meant for her to be confused, maybe a little unstable, but do you think it was perhaps overdone? Is Perceptor being too forward? He is rather effeminate. Ah, well, can't be helped now. I hope you enjoyed this.**


End file.
